XI
"I am convinced," said Miguel Farrel, as he followed his guests out ofthe dining-room onto the veranda, "that the Parkers' invasion of myhome is something in the nature of a mixed misfortune. I begin to feelthat my cloud has a silver lining."
"Of all the young men I have ever met, you can say the nicest things,"Mrs. Parker declared. "I don't think you mean that last remark theleast bit, but still I'm silly enough to like to hear you say it. Dosit down here awhile, Mr. Farrel, and tell us all about yourself andfamily."
"At the risk of appearing discourteous, Mrs. Parker, I shall have toask you to excuse me this morning. I have a living to make. It is nowa quarter past nine, and I should have been on the job at seven."
"But you only got home from the army last night," Kay pleaded. "Youowe yourself a little rest, do you not?"
"Not a minute. I must not owe anything I cannot afford. I haveapproximately seven months in which to raise approximately a quarter ofa million dollars. Since I am without assets, I have no credit;consequently, I must work for that money. From to-day I am LittleMike, the Hustler."
"What's your program, Mr. Farrel?" Parker inquired, with interest.
"I should be grateful for an interview with you, sir, if you can sparethe time. Later, I shall ride out over the ranch and make an inventoryof the stock. Tomorrow, I shall go in to El Toro, see my father'sattorney, ascertain if father left a will, and, if so, whom he named asexecutor. If he died intestate, I shall petition for letters ofadministration."
"Come, Kay, dear," Mrs. Parker announced; "heavy business-man stuff! Ican't bear it! Will you take a walk with us, Mr. Okada?"
"Very much pleased," the potato baron replied, and flashed his fineteeth in a fatuous grin.
Farrel smiled his thanks as the good lady moved off with her convoy.Parker indicated a chair and proffered a cigar.
"Now then, Mr. Farrel, I am quite at your service."
Miguel Farrel lighted his cigar and thoughtfully tossed the burnt matchinto a bed of pansies. Evidently, he was formulating his queries.
"What was the exact sum for which the mortgage on this ranch wasforeclosed, Mr. Parker?"
"Two hundred and eighty-three thousand, nine hundred and forty-onedollars, and eight cents, Mr. Farrel."
"A sizable wad. Mortgage covered the entire ranch?"
Parker nodded.
"When you secured control of the First National Bank of El Toro, youfound that old mortgage carried in its list of assets. You alsodiscovered that it had been renewed several times, each time for alarger sum, from which you deduced that the prospects for the ultimatepayment of the mortgage were nebulous and distant. Your hypothesis wascorrect. The Farrels never did to-day a task that could be deferreduntil to-morrow. Well, you went out and looked over the security forthat mortgage. You found it to be ample--about three to one, as a veryconservative appraisal. You discovered that all of the stockholders inthe First National were old friends of my father and extremelyreluctant to foreclose on him. As a newcomer; you preferred not toantagonize your associates by forcing the issue upon them, so youwaited until the annual election of stockholders, when you elected yourown Board of Directors. Then this Board of Directors sold you themortgage, and you promptly foreclosed it. The shock of this unexpectedmove was a severe one on my father; the erroneous report of my deathkilled him, and here you are, where you have every legal right in theworld to be. We were never entitled to pity, never entitled to thehalf-century of courtesy and consideration we received from the bank.We met the fate that is bound to overtake impractical dreamers andnon-hustlers in this generation. The Mission Indian disappeared beforethe onslaught of the earlier Californians, and the old-timeCalifornians have had to take a back seat before the onslaught of theGo-get-'em boys from the Middle West and the East. Presently they,too, will disappear before the hordes of Japanese that are invading ourstate. Perhaps that is progress--the survival of the fittest. _Quiensabe_?"
He paused and smoked contemplatively. Parker cast a sidelong glance ofcuriosity at him, but said nothing, by his silence giving assent to allthat the younger man had said.
"I suppose you wanted the Rancho Palomar," Miguel Farrel suggested,presently. "I dare say your purchase of this mortgage was not the mereoutgrowth of an altruistic desire to relieve the First National Bank ofEl Toro of an annoyance and a burden."
"I think I admire your direct way of speaking, even if I hardly relishit," Parker answered, good-humoredly. "Yes; I wanted the ranch. Irealized I could do things with it that nobody else in this countycould do or would even think of doing."
"Perhaps you are right. For the sake of argument, I will admit thatyou are right. Now then, to business. This ranch is worth a milliondollars, and at the close of the exemption period your claim against itwill probably amount to approximately three hundred thousand dollars,principal and interest. If I can induce somebody to loan me threehundred thousand dollars wherewith to redeem this property, I can getthe ranch back."
"Naturally."
"Not much use getting it back, however, unless I can raise anotherhundred thousand to restock it with pure-bred or good-grade Herefordsand purchase modern equipment to operate it." Parker noddedapprovingly. "Otherwise," Farrel continued, "the interest would eat mealive, and in a few years I'd be back where I started."
"Do you think you can borrow four hundred thousand dollars in SanMarcos County, Mr. Farrel?"
"No, sir. No private loan of that magnitude can be floated in thiscountry. You control the only bank in the county that can evenconsider it--and you'll not consider it."
"Hardly."
"Added to which handicap, I have no additional security to offer in theshape of previous reputation for ability and industry. I am the lastof a long line of indolent, care-free spendthrifts."
"Yes; that is unfortunately true," Parker assented, gravely.
"Oh, not so unfortunate as it is embarrassing and inconvenient. Wehave always enjoyed life to the fullest, and, for that, only a foolwould have regret. Would you be willing to file a satisfaction of thatold mortgage and give me a new loan for five years for the amount nowdue on the property? I could induce one of the big packing companiesto stake me to the cattle. All I would have to provide would be therange, and satisfy them that I am honest and know my business. And Ican do that. Such an arrangement would give me time to negotiate asale of part of the ranch and pay up your mortgage."
"I am afraid that my present plans preclude consideration of thatsuggestion," the banker replied, kindly, but none the less forcibly.
"I didn't think you would, but I thought I'd ask. As a general rule,it pays to try anything once when a fellow is in as desperate case as Iam. My only hope, then, is that I may be able to sell the Farrelequity in the ranch prior to the twenty-second day of November."
"That would seem to be your best course, Mr. Farrel."
"When does the redemption period expire?"
Parker squirmed slightly.
"That is a difficult question to answer, Mr. Farrel. It seems yourfather was something of a lawyer--"
"Yes; he graduated in law. Why, nobody ever knew, for he never had theslightest intention of practising it. I believe it must have beenbecause my grandfather, Michael Joseph I, had an idea that, since hisson was a gentleman, he ought to have a college degree and the right tofollow some genteel profession in case of disaster."
"Your father evidently kept abreast of the law," Parker laughed."Before entering suit for foreclosure, I notified him by registeredmail that the mortgage would not be renewed and made formal demand uponhim for payment in full. When he received the notice from the El Toropostmaster to call for that registered letter, he must have suspectedits contents, for he immediately deeded the ranch to you and thencalled for the registered letter."
Farrel began to chuckle.
"Good old dad!" he cried. "Put over a dirty Irish trick on you to gaintime!"
"He did. I do not blame him for it. I wo
uld have done the same thingmyself under the same circumstances." And Parker had the grace to joinin the laugh. "When I filed suit for foreclosure," he continued, "heappeared in court and testified that the property belonged to his son,who was in the military service, in consequence of which the suit forforeclosure could not be pressed until after said son's discharge fromthe service."
"All praise to the power of the war-time moratoriums," Farrel declared."I suppose you re-entered the suit as soon as the report of my deathreached you."
Parker chuckled.
"I did, Mr. Farrel, and secured a judgment. Then I took possession."
"Aren't you the picture of bad luck? Just when everything is shapingup beautifully for you, I appear in the flesh as exhibit A in thecontention that your second judgment will now have to be set aside,because, at the time it was entered, it conflicted with the provisionsof that blessed moratorium." Don Miguel smiled mirthlessly.
"There's luck in odd numbers," Parker retorted, dryly. "The next timeI shall make that judgment stick."
"Well, at any rate, all these false starts help me out wonderfully,"Don Miguel reminded him. "As matters stand this morning, the mortgagehasn't been foreclosed at all; consequently, you are really and trulymy guests and doubly welcome to my poor house." He rose and stretchedhimself, gazing down the while at Parker, who regarded him quizzically."Thank you for the interview, Mr. Parker. I imagine we've had ourfirst and last business discussion. When you are ready to enter yourthird suit for foreclosure, I'll drop round to your attorney's office,accept service of the summons, appear in court, and confess judgment."Fell a silence. Then, "Do you enjoy the study of people, sir?" DonMiguel demanded, apropos of nothing.
"Not particularly, Mr. Farrel. Of course, I try to know the man I'mdoing business with, and I study him accordingly, but that is all."
"I have not made myself explicit," his host replied. "The racialimpulses which I observed cropping out in my father--first Irish, thenSpanish--and a similar observance of the raised impulses of the peonsof this country, all of whom are Indian, with a faint admixture ofSpanish blood--always interested me. I agree with Pope that 'theproper study of mankind is man.' I find it most interesting."
"For instance?" Parker queried. He had a feeling that in anyconversation other than business which he might indulge in with thisyoung man he would speedily find himself, as it were, in deep waterclose to the shore.
"I was thinking of my father. In looking through his effects lastnight, I came across indubitable evidence of his Celtic blood.Following the futile pursuit of an enemy for a quarter of a century, hedied and left the unfinished job to me. Had he been all Spanish, hewould have wearied of the pursuit a decade ago."
"I think every race has some definite characteristics necessary to theunity of that race," Parker replied, with interest. "Hate makes theIrish cohesive; pride or arrogance prevents the sun from setting onBritish territory; a passionate devotion to the soil has solidified theFrench republic in all its wars, while a blind submission to anoverlord made Germany invincible in peace and terrible in war."
"I wonder what spiritual binder holds the people of the United Statestogether, Mr. Parker?" Don Miguel queried naively.
"Love of country, devotion to the ideals of liberty and democracy,"Parker replied promptly, just as his daughter joined them.
Farrel rose and surrendered to her his chair, then seated himself onthe edge of the porch with his legs dangling over into a flower-bed.His face was grave, but in his black eyes there lurked the glint ofpolite contempt.
"Did you hear the question and the answer, Miss Parker?" he queried.
She nodded brightly.
"Do you agree with your father's premise?" he pursued.
"Yes, I do, Don Mike."
"I do not. The mucilage in our body politic is the press-agent, theadvertising specialist, and astute propagandist. I wonder if you knowthat, when we declared war against Germany, the reason was not to makethe world safe for democracy, for there are only two real reasons whywars are fought. One is greed and the other self-protection. ThankGod, we have never been greedy or jealous of the prosperity of aneighbor. National aggrandizement is not one of our ambitions."
Kay stared at him in frank amazement.
"Then you mean that we entered the late war purely as a protectivemeasure?"
"That's why I enlisted. As an American citizen, I was unutterablyweary of having our hand crowded and our elbow joggled. I saw veryclearly that, unless we interfered, Germany was going to dominate theworld, which would make it very uncomfortable and expensive for us. Irepeat that for the protection of our comfort and our bank-roll wedeclared war, and anybody who tells you otherwise isn't doing his ownthinking, he isn't honest with himself, and he's the sort of citizenwho is letting the country go to the dogs because he refuses to take anintelligent interest in its affairs."
"What a perfectly amazing speech from an ex-soldier!" Kay protested.
He smiled his sad, prescient smile.
"Soldiers deal with events, not theories. They learn to call a spade aspade, Miss Parker. I repeat: It wasn't a war to make the world safefor democracy. That phrase was just a slogan in a businesscampaign--the selling of stock in a military enterprise to apatheticAmericans. We had to fight or be overrun; when we realized that, wefought. Are not the present antics of the Supreme Council in Parissufficient proof that saving democracy was just another shibboleth? Isnot a ghastly war to be followed by a ghastly peace? The press-agentsand orators popularized the war with the unthinking and the hesitant,which is proof enough to me that we lack national unity and a definitenational policy. We're a lot of sublimated jackasses, sacrificing ourcountry to ideals that are worn at elbow and down at heel. 'Othertimes, other customs.' But we go calmly and stupidly onward, huggingour foolish shibboleths to our hearts, hiding behind them, refusing todo to-day that which we can put off until to-morrow. That is truly anAnglo-Saxon trait. In matters of secondary importance, we yield aready acquiescence which emboldens our enemies to insist uponacquiescence in matters of primary importance. And quite frequentlythey succeed. I tell you the Anglo-Saxon peoples are the only onesunder heaven that possess a national conscience, and because theypossess it, they are generous enough to assume that other races aresimilarly endowed."
"I believe," Parker stuck in, as Don Miguel ceased from his passionatedenunciation, "that all this is leading quite naturally to a discussionof Japanese emigration."
"I admit that the sight of Mr. Okada over in the corner of the patio,examining with interest the only sweet-lime tree in North America,inspired my outburst," Farrel answered smilingly.
"You speak of our national shibboleths, Don Mike Farrel," Kay remindedhim. "If you please, what might they be?"
"You will recognize them instantly, Miss Parker. Let us start with ourDeclaration of Independence: 'All men are created equal.' Ah, if theframers of that great document had only written, 'All men are createdtheoretically equal!' For all men are not morally, intellectually, orcommercially equal: For instance, Pablo is equal with me before thelaw, although I hazard the guess that if he and I should commit amurder, Pablo would be hanged and I would be sentenced to lifeimprisonment; eventually, I might be pardoned or paroled. Are youwilling to admit that Pablo Artelan is not my equal?" he challengedsuddenly.
"Certainly!" Kay and her father both cried in unison.
"Very well. Is Mr. Okada my equal?"
"He is Pablo's superior," Parker felt impelled to declare.
"He is not your equal," Kay declared firmly. "Dad, you're begging thequestion."
"We-ll, no," he assented, "Not from the Anglo-Saxon point of view. Heis, however, from the point of view of his own nationals."
"Two parallel lines continued into infinity will never meet, Mr.Parker. I am a believer in Asia for Asiatics, and, in Japan, I amwilling to accord a Jap equality with me. In my own country, however,I would deny him citizenship, by any right whatsoever, even by birth, Iwould de
ny him the right to lease or own land for agricultural or otherpurposes, although I would accord him office and warehouse space tocarry on legitimate commerce. The Jap does that for us and no more,despite his assertions to the contrary. I would deny the right ofemigration to this country of all Japanese, with certain exceptionsnecessary to friendly intercourse between the two countries; I woulddeny him the privilege of economic competition and marriage with ourwomen. When a member of the great Nordic race fuses with a member of apigmented race, both parties to the union violate a natural law. Pablois a splendid example of mongrelization."
"You are forgetting the shibboleths," Kay ventured to remind him.
"No; I am merely explaining their detrimental effect upon ourdevelopment. The Japanese are an exceedingly clever and resourcefulrace. Brilliant psychologists and astute diplomatists, they have takenadvantage of our pet shibboleth, to the effect that all men are equal.Unfortunately, we propounded this monstrous and half-baked ideal to theworld, and a sense of national vanity discourages us from repudiatingit, although we really ought to. And as I remarked before, we possessan alert national conscience in international affairs, while the Jappossesses none except in certain instances where it is obvious thathonesty is the best policy. I think I am justified, however, instating that, upon the whole, Japan has no national conscience ininternational affairs. Her brutal exploitation of China and hermerciless and bloody conquest of Korea impel that point of view from anAnglo-Saxon. When, therefore, the Tokyo government says, in effect, tous: 'For one hundred and forty-four years you have proclaimed to theworld that all men are equal. Very well. Accept us. We are aworld-power. We are on a basis of equality with you,' and we lack thecourage to repudiate this pernicious principle, we have tacitlyadmitted their equality. That is, the country in general has, becauseit knows nothing of the Japanese race--at least not enough formoderately practical understanding of the biological and economicissues involved. Indeed, for a long time, we Californians dwelt in thesame fool's paradise as the remainder of the states. Finally, membersof the Japanese race became so numerous and aggressive here that wecouldn't help noticing them. Then we began to study them, and now,what we have learned amazes and frightens us, and we want the sisterstates to know all that we have learned, in order that they maycooperate with us. But, still, the Jap has us _tiron_ in other ways."
"Has us what?" Parker interrupted.
"_Tiron_. Spanish slang. I mean he has us where the hair is short;we're hobbled."
"How?" Kay demanded.
His bright smile was triumphant.
"By shibboleths, of course. My friends, we're a race of sentimentalidiots, and the Japanese know this and capitalize it. We havepromulgated other fool shibboleths which we are too proud or too stupidto repudiate. 'America, the refuge for all the oppressed of theearth!' Ever hear that perfectly damnable shibboleth shouted by aFourth of July orator? 'America, the hope of the world!' What kind ofhope? Hope of freedom, social and political equality, equality ofopportunity? Nonsense! Hope of more money, shorter hours, and licensemisnamed liberty; and when that hope has been fulfilled, back they goto the countries that denied them all that we give. How many of themfeel, when they land at Ellis Island, that the ground whereon theytread is holy, sanctified by the blood and tears of a handful of great,brave souls who really had an ideal and died for it. Mighty few of thecattle realize what that hope is, even in the second generation."
"I fear," quoth Parker, "that your army experience has embittered you."
"On the contrary, it has broadened and developed me. It has been aliberal education, and it has strengthened my love for my country."
"Continue with the shibboleths, Don Mike," Kay pleaded. Her big, browneyes were alert with interest now.
"Well, when Israel Zangwill coined that phrase: 'The Melting-Pot,' thetitle to his play caught the popular fancy of a shibboleth-crazynation, and provided pap for the fanciful, for the theorists, for theflabby idealists and doctrinaires. If I melt lead and iron and copperand silver and gold in the same pot, I get a bastard metal, do I not?It is not, as a fused product, worth a tinker's hoot. Why, evenZangwill is not an advocate of the melting-pot. He is a Jew, proud ofit, and extremely solicitous for the welfare of the Jewish race. He isa Zionist--a leader of the movement to crowd the Arabs out of Palestineand repopulate that country with Jews. He feels that the Jews have anancient and indisputable right to Palestine, although, parentheticallyspeaking, I do not believe that any smart Jew who ever escaped fromPalestine wants to go back. I wouldn't swap the Rancho Palomar for thewhole country."
Kay and her father laughed at his earnest yet whimsical tirade. DonMiguel continued:
"Then we have that asinine chatter about 'America, the land of fairplay.' In theory--yes. In actual practice--not always. You didn'taccumulate your present assets, Mr. Parker, without taking anoccasional chance on side-tracking equity when you thought you couldbeat the case. But the Jap reminds us of our reputation for fair play,and smilingly asks us if we are going to prejudice that reputation bydiscriminating unjustly against him?"
"It appears," the girl suggested, "that all these ancient nationalbrags come home, like curses, to roost."
"Indeed they do, Miss Parker! But to get on with our shibboleths. Wehear a great deal of twaddle about the law of the survival of thefittest. I'm willing to abide by such a natural law, provided thecompetition is confined to mine own people--and I'm one of those chaps,who, to date, has failed to survive. But I cannot see any common sensein opening the lists to Orientals. We Californians know we cannot winin competition with them." He paused and glanced at Kay. "Does allthis harangue bore you, Miss Parker?"
"Not at all. Are there any more shibboleths?"
"I haven't begun to enumerate them. Take, for instance, that oldpacifist gag, that Utopian dream that is crystallized in the words:'The road to universal peace.' All the long years when we were notbothered by wars or rumors of wars, other nations were whittling eachother to pieces. And these agonized neighbors, longing, with a greatlonging, for world-peace, looked to the United States as the onlylogical country in which a great cure-all for wars might reasonably beexpected to germinate. So their propagandists came to our shores andstarted societies looking toward the establishment of brotherly love,and thus was born the shibboleth of universal peace, with Uncle Samheading the parade like an old bell-mare in a pack train. What thesepeace-patriots want is peace at any price, although they do notadvertise the fact. We proclaim to the world that we are a Christiannation. _Ergo_, we must avoid trouble. The avoidance of trouble isthe policy of procrastinators, the vacillating, and the weak. For onecannot avoid real trouble. It simply will not be avoided;consequently, it might as well be met and settled for all time."
"But surely," Parker remarked, "California should subordinate herselfto the wishes of the majority."
"Yes, she should," he admitted doggedly, "and she has in the past. Ithink that was before California herself really knew that Orientalemigration was not solely a California problem but a national problemof the utmost importance. Indeed, it is international. Of course, inview of the fact that we Californians are already on the firing-line,necessarily it follows that we must make some noise and, incidentally,glean some real first-hand knowledge of this so-called problem. Ithink that when our fellow citizens know what we are fighting, theywill sympathize with us and promptly dedicate the United States to theunfaltering principle that ours is a white man's country, that theheritage we have won from the wilderness shall be held inviolate forNordic posterity and none other."
"Nevertheless, despite your prejudice against the race, you are boundto admire the Japanese--their manners, thrift, industry, andcleanliness." Parker was employing one of the old stock protests, andDon Miguel knew it.
"I do not admire their manners, but I do admire their thrift, industry,and cleanliness. Their manners are abominable. Their excessivecourtesy is neither instinctive nor genuine; it is camouflage for ar
uthless, greedy, selfish, calculating nature. I have met manyJapanese, but never one with nobility or generosity of soul. They aredisciples of the principles of expediency. If a mutual agreement worksout to their satisfaction, well and good. If it does not, they presenta humble and saddened mien. 'So sorry. I zink you no understand me.I don't mean zat.' And their peculiar Oriental psychology leads themto believe they can get away with that sort of thing with thestraight-thinking Anglo-Saxon. They have no code of sportsmanship;they are irritable and quarrelsome, and their contractual relations areincompatible with those of the Anglo-Saxon. They are not truthful.Individually and collectively, they are past masters of evasion anddeceit, and therefore they are the greatest diplomatists in the world,I verily believe. They are wonderfully shrewd, and they have senseenough to keep their heads when other men are losing theirs. They arepatient; they plan craftily and execute carefully and ruthlessly.Would you care to graft their idea of industry on the white race, Mr.Parker?"
"I would," Parker declared, firmly. "It is getting to be the fashionnowadays for white men to do as little work as possible, and half dothat."
"I would not care to see my wife or my mother or my sister laboringtwelve to sixteen hours a day as Japanese force their women to labor.I would not care to contemplate the future mothers of our race drawnfrom the ranks of twisted, stunted, broken-down, and prematurely agedwomen. Did you ever see a bent Japanese girl of twenty waddling infrom a day of labor in a field? To emulate Japanese industry, with itspeonage, its horrible, unsanitary factory conditions, its hopelessness,would be to thrust woman's hard-won sphere in modern civilization backto where it stood at the dawn of the Christian era. Do you know, MissParker, that love never enters into consideration when a Japanesecontemplates marriage? His sole purpose in acquiring a mate is tobeget children, to scatter the seed of Yamato over the world, for thatis a religious duty. A Jap never kisses his wife or shows her anyevidences of affection. She is a chattel, and if anybody should, bychance, discover him kissing his wife, he would be frightfullymortified."
"What of their religious views, Don Mike?"
"If Japan can be said to have an official religion, it is Shintoism,not Buddhism, as so many Occidental people believe. Shintoism isancestor-worship, and ascribes divinity to the emperor. They believehe is a direct descendant of the sun-god, Yamato."
"Why, they're a heathen nation!" Kay's tones were indicative ofamazement.
Farrel smiled his tolerant smile.
"I believe, Miss Parker, that any people who will get down on all foursto worship the picture of their emperor and, at this period of theworld's progress, ascribe to a mere human being the attributes ofdivinity, are certainly deficient in common sense, if not incivilization. However, for the purpose of insuring the realization ofthe Japanese national aspirations, Shintoism is a need vital to therace. Without it, they could never agree among themselves for they arenaturally quarrelsome, suspicious and irritable. However, bysubordinating everything to the state via this religious channel, therehas been developed a national unity that has never existed with anyother race. The power of cohesion of this people is marvelous, andwill enable it, in days to come, to accomplish much for the race. Forthat reason alone, our very lack of cohesion renders the aspirations ofJapan comparatively easy of fulfilment unless we wake up and attend tobusiness."
"How do you know all this, Mr. Farrel?" Parker demanded incredulously.
"I have read translations from editorials in Japanese newspapers bothin Japan and California; I have read translations of the speeches ofeminent Japanese statesmen; I have read translations from Japaneseofficial or semi-official magazines, and I have read translations frompatriotic Japanese novels. I know what I am talking about. TheJapanese race holds firmly to the belief that it is the greatest raceon the face of the globe, that its religion, Shintoism, is the one truefaith, that it behooves it to carry this faith to the benighted ofother lands and, if said benighted do not readily accept Shintoism, toforce its blessings upon them willy-nilly. They believe that they knowwhat is good for the world; they believe that the resources of theworld were put here to be exploited by the people of the world,regardless of color, creed, or geographical limitation. They feel thatthey have as much right in North America as we have, and they purposeover-running us and making our country Japanese territory. And it wasyour purpose to aid in the consummation of this monstrous ambition," hecharged bluntly.
"At least," Parker defended, "they are a more wholesome people thansouthern Europeans. And they are not Mongolians."
Farrel's eyebrows arched.
"You have been reading Japanese propaganda," he replied. "Of coursethey are Mongolians. Everybody who has reached the age of reason knowsthat. One does not have to be a biologist to know that they areMongolians. Indeed, the only people who deny it are the Japanese, andthey do not believe it. As for southern Europeans, have you notobserved that nearly all of them possess brachycephalic skulls,indicating the influence upon them of Mongolian invasions thousands ofyears ago and supplying, perhaps, a very substantial argument that, ifwe find the faintly Mongoloid type of emigrant repugnant to us, we cannever expect to assimilate the pure-bred Mongol."
"What do you mean, 'brachycephalic'?" Parker queried, uneasily.
"They belong to the race of round heads. Didn't you know thatethnologists grub round in ancient cemeteries and tombs and trace theevolution and wanderings of tribes of men by the skulls they findthere?"
"I did not."
Kay commenced to giggle at her father's confusion. The latter hadsuddenly, as she realized, made the surprising discovery that in thiscalm son of the San Gregorio he had stumbled upon a student, to attemptto break a conversational lance with whom must end in disaster. Hisdaughter's mirth brought him to a realization of the sorry figure hewould present in argument.
"Well, my dear, what are you laughing at?" he demanded, a trifleausterely.
"I'm laughing at you. You told me yesterday you were loaded for theseCalifornians and could flatten their anti-Japanese arguments in ajiffy."
"Perhaps I am loaded still. Remember, Kay, Mr. Farrel has done all ofthe talking and we have been attentive listeners. Wait until I havehad my innings."
"By the way, Mr. Parker," Farrel asked, "who loaded you up withpro-Japanese arguments?"
Parker flushed and was plainly ill at ease. Farrel turned to Kay.
"I do not know yet where you folks came from, but I'll make a bet thatI can guess--in one guess."
"What will you bet, my erudite friend?" the girl bantered.
"I'll bet you Panchito against a box of fifty of the kind of cigarsyour father smokes."
"Taken. Where do we hail from, Don Mike?"
"From New York city."
"Dad, send Mr. Farrel a box of cigars."
"Now, I'll make you another bet. I'll stake Panchito against anotherbox of the same cigars that your father is a member of the JapanSociety, of New York city."
"Send Mr. Farrel another box of cigars, popsy-wops. Don Mike, how_did_ you guess it?"
"Oh, all the real plutocrats in New York have been sold memberships inthat instrument of propaganda by the wily sons of Nippon. The JapanSociety is supposed to be a vehicle for establishing friendliercommercial and social relations between the United States and Japan.The society gives wonderful banquets and yammers away about theBrotherhood of Man and sends out pro-Japanese propaganda. Really, it'sa wonderful institution, Miss Parker. The millionaire white men of NewYork finance the society, and the Japs run it. It was some shrewdJapanese member of the Japan Society who sent you to Okada on thisland-deal, was it not, Mr. Parker?"
"You're too good a guesser for comfort," the latter parried. "I'mgoing to write some letters. I'm motoring in to El Toro thisafternoon, and I'll want to mail them."
"'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof'," Don Miguel assured himlightly. "Whenever you feel the urge for further information aboutyourself and your Japanese friends, I am at your s
ervice. I expect toprove to you in about three lessons that you have unwittingly permittedyourself to develop into a very poor citizen, even if you did load upwith Liberty Bonds and deliver four-minute speeches during all of theloan drives."
"Oh, I'm as good as the average American, despite what you say,"retorted the banker, good-naturedly, as he left them.
The master of Palomar gazed after the retreating figure of his guest.In his glance there was curiosity, pain, and resignation. He continuedto stare at the door through which Parker had disappeared, until rousedfrom his reverie by Kay's voice.
"The average American doesn't impress you greatly, does he, Don Mike?"
"Oh, I'm not one of that supercilious breed of Americans which toadiesto an alleged European culture by finding fault with his own people,"he hastened to assure her. "What distresses me is the knowledge thatwe are a very moral nation, that we have never subjugated weakerpeoples, that we have never coveted our neighbor's goods, that we canoutthink and outwork and outgame and outinvent every nation underheaven, and yet haven't brains enough to do our own thinking inworld-affairs. It is discouraging to contemplate the smug complacency,whether it be due to ignorance or apathy, which permits aliens toreside in our midst and set up agencies for our destruction and theirbenefit. If I-- Why, you're in riding-costume, aren't you?"
"You will never be popular with women if you do not mend your ways,"she informed him, with a little grimace of disapproval. "Do you notknow that women loathe non-observing men?"
"So do I. Stodgy devils! Sooner or later, the fool-killer gets themall. Please do not judge me to-day, Miss Parker. Perhaps, after awhile, I may be more discerning. By Jupiter, those very becomingriding-togs will create no end of comment among the natives!"
"You said Panchito was to be mine while I am your guest, Don Mike."
"I meant it."
"I do not relish the easy manner in which you risk parting with him.The idea of betting that wonder-horse against a box of filthy cigars!"
"Oh, I wasn't risking him," he retorted, dryly. "However, before youride Panchito, I'll put him through his paces. He hasn't been riddenfor three or four months, I dare say, and when he feels particularlygood, he carries on just a little."
"If he's sober-minded, may I ride him to-day?"
"We shall quarrel if you insist upon treating yourself as company. Myhome and all I possess are here for your happiness. If your mother andfather do not object--"
"My father doesn't bother himself opposing my wishes, and mother--bythe way, you've made a perfectly tremendous hit with mother. She toldme I could go riding with you."
He blushed boyishly at this vote of confidence. Kay noted the blush,and liked him all the better for it.
"Very well," he answered. "We'll ride down to the mission first. Imust pay my respects to my friends there--didn't bother to look in onthem last night, you know. Then we will ride over to the Sepulvidaranch for luncheon. I want you to know Anita Sepulvida. She's a verylovely girl and a good pal of mine. You'll like her."
"Let's go," she suggested, "while mother is still convoying Mr. Okada.He is still interested in that sweet-lime tree. By the way," shecontinued, as they rose and walked down the porch together, "I havenever heard of a sweet-lime before."
"It's the only one of its kind in this country, Miss Parker, and it isvery old. Just before it came into bearing for the first time, mygrandmother, while walking along the porch with a pan of sugar in herhands, stubbed her toe and fell off the porch, spilling her pan ofsugar at the base of the tree. The result of this accident isnoticeable in the fruit to this very day."
She glanced up at him suspiciously, but not even the shadow of a smilehovered on his grave features. He opened the rear gate for her andthey passed out into the compound.
"That open fireplace in the adobe wall under the shed yonder was wherethe cowboys used to sit and dry themselves after a rainy day on therange," he informed her. "In fact, this compound was reserved for thehelp. Here they held their bailies in the old days."
"What is that little building yonder--that lean-to against the mainadobe wall?" Kay demanded.
"That was the settlement-room. You must know that the possessors ofdark blood seldom settle a dispute by argument, Miss Parker. In daysgone by, whenever a couple of peons quarreled (and they quarreledfrequently), the majordomo, or foreman of the ranch, would cause thesemen to be stripped naked and placed in this room to settle their rowwith nature's weapons. When honor was satisfied, the victor came tothis grating and announced it. Not infrequently, peons have emergedfrom this room minus an ear or a nose, but, as a general thing, thismethod of settlement was to be preferred to knife or pistol."
Farrel tossed an empty box against the door and invited the girl toclimb up on it and peer into the room. She did so. Instantly aferocious yell resounded from the semi-darkness within.
"Good gracious! Is that a ghost?" Kay cried, and leaped to the ground.
"No; confound it!" Farrel growled. "It's your Japanese cook. Pablolocked him in there this morning, in order that Carolina might have aclear field for her culinary art. Pablo!"
His cry brought an answering hail from Pablo, over at the barn, andpresently the old majordomo entered the compound. Farrel spoke sternlyto him in Spanish, and, with a shrug of indifference, Pablo unlockedthe door of the settlement-room and the Japanese cook bounded out. Hewas inarticulate with frenzy, and disappeared through the gate of thecompound with an alacrity comparable only to that of a tin-canned dog.
"I knew he had been placed here temporarily," Don Miguel confessed,"but I did think Pablo would have sense enough to let him out whenbreakfast was over. I'm sorry."
"I'm not. I think that incident is the funniest I have ever seen," thegirl laughed. "Poor outraged fellow!"
"Well, if you think it's funny, so do I. Any sorrow I felt at yourcook's incarceration was due to my apprehension as to your feelings,not his."
"What a fearful rage he is in, Don Mike!"
"Oh, well, he can help himself to the fruit of our famous lime-tree andget sweet again. Pablo, you russet scoundrel, no more rough stuff ifyou know what's good for you. Where is Panchito?"
"I leave those horse loose in the pasture," Pablo replied, a whitabashed. "I like for see if those horse he got some brains like beforeyou go ride heem. For long time Panchito don' hear hees boss callheem. Mebbeso he forget--no?"
"We shall see, Pablo."